


nine to five (for service and devotion)

by ASongofSixpence



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: A Coffee shop AU, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Humor, Pete's World, Romance, of sorts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-13
Updated: 2015-10-13
Packaged: 2018-04-26 06:47:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4994308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ASongofSixpence/pseuds/ASongofSixpence
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rose runs into Sarah Jane in Pete’s world and has an existential crisis. Meanwhile, the Doctor decides it’s his life's purpose to work every minimum wage job in the universe. So just another day, really.</p>
            </blockquote>





	nine to five (for service and devotion)

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, the title is in fact a line from the Dolly Parton song, Nine to Five. Something about combining Doctor Who and Dolly Parton is really ridiculous and satisfying to me. For best results, listen to Nine to Five before reading this fic. Just try it, man.

The first time Rose sees Sarah Jane in Pete's world she nearly gets into a fight with the woman’s husband.

Or rather, the situation goes like this: Rose is walking out of a sandwich shop on her way back from her lunch break. The Doctor is still back in one of Torchwood’s labs, but Rose has promised him a sandwich, which she's currently holding in her left hand. Her right hand is holding her phone, on which she is furiously texting her mum about their dinner plans for that evening:

_dont tell tony were coming i want it to be a surprise_

_the doctor made_

She doesn't get the chance to explain what the Doctor made, (it's a small remote controlled hovercraft and Tony is going to love it so much he'll break it after the third test flight) because she's too busy running into a well-dressed man and the woman walking next to him. She manages to keep ahold of her phone, but the Doctor's sandwich makes a dramatic swan dive out of her hand and into the street. Rose says a word that is not very polite, and the man she's run into grunts loudly.

"Oi, watch it."

"Yeah, alright, sorry," Rose retorts, bending to pick up the sandwich. She’s entertaining giving it to the Doctor anyway (it doesn't look that dirty, and it's not as if he doesn't spend half his time licking rubbish he finds on the street already), when the man double takes and turns back toward her.

"Wait, you're that Tyler girl aren't you? I've seen you in the papers. You know, just because your daddy is a millionaire don't mean you own the street."

"Oh, leave her alone, Richard, it was an accident." The woman next to him says, and Rose straightens, annoyed.

"Oi, listen mate, I--." She stops dead. "Sarah Jane!”

The woman, who is clearly, unquestionably, the one and only Sarah Jane Smith, smiles quizzically back at her. She looks younger somehow, though surely she’s older now than when she and Rose first met. Her face seems less drawn, her eyes a little less wizened; the fringe benefit of spending far less of her life saving herself and the Doctor from mortal peril, Rose is sure. "I'm sorry, have we met before?"

"No." Rose says quickly, and then realizing this won’t explain her rapid-fire recognition, amends, "I mean, yes. Yes we have. Er, but it was just for a moment, so, you know, you probably wouldn't remember."

"Oh," Sarah Jane frowns, "I'm sorry, you must think me awfully rude." She glances at the man, Richard, who’s shoved his hands in the pockets of his coat and is looking peevishly across the road. "Forgive my husband, he's just in a bad mood because we missed our bus."

"Your husband! Really?" Rose looks at him a little closer. Now that he's not making jabs at her family she can see what one might see in him, with what his handsome dark eyes and strong jaw, currently set petulantly askew. "I see."

He gives her an uncomfortable look. "Sarah, we should get going."

"Right, right. Well," She offers Rose a smile, "Nice seeing you."

"Yeah! Nice seeing you... again."

Without a seconds hesitation the two turn away from her and head down the street. Rose watches them until they round the corner and then looks down at the Doctor’s sad, wilting sandwich.

 _Oh hell_ , she thinks. _Oh hell, I never thought of this at all._  

She spends the walk back to Torchwood worrying her lip and wondering what to tell the Doctor about the encounter, if to tell him anything. For some reason the idea that his previous companions, all of his old friends, might be walking about London with absolutely no knowledge of him has never occurred to her. Truthfully she hasn’t given much thought to people from her old life for years now- not since those first terrible months after she’d crossed the void. Her dad is here, obviously, and Rickey had been, but her search for Shareen or any of her old friends from the estate had turned up nothing but dead ends. She’d been force to reconcile with the fact that even if she had found them they’d never know her, and has since endeavored to put the whole idea behind her completely. But this, well, this might complicate some things.

Of course it will hurt the Doctor to see how Sarah Jane’s life has changed without him, how could it not? Had Rose managed to track Shareen down, she’s sure she wouldn’t have been able to stand the same lack of recognition in her eyes she’d seen in Sarah Jane’s. The one-sided knowledge of their shared history would have been too much for Rose to bear, and she can’t believe it wouldn’t be the same for the Doctor, if not worse. Oh, and he _could_ get so maudlin… and they had been doing so well recently…

Of course, by the time she gets back to Torchwood and flashed her badge at the door, whether to approach the Doctor about it or not has been decided for her: One of the labs has blown up (the Doctor pleads Not Guilty), one of the interns has accidently wiped his own memory, and aliens may or may not have begun to invade London. By the time the smoke has cleared (literally), and all the paper work has been filled out, the entire incident has been driven completely from her mind.

Which is when, as par for the course, Rose's life starts to get a little bit weirder.

*

She is woken on Sunday to the Doctor pressing a kiss to the crown of her head. Refusing to open her eyes before her alarm has gone off, she reaches in the direction of the kiss, colliding with something decidedly humanoid and patting it appreciatively. The Doctor makes a small noise of bemusement in the back of his throat.

"I'll be back later."

Rose grunts in affirmation, and then, as a second thought, grabs blindly in his direction, clutching what she's pretty sure is his sleeve. "Wher’you goin’?"

"To work."

Against her better judgment, she opens her eyes to blearily squint at him. It turns out that what she's grabbing is his thigh, the fabric of his trousers bunched in her fisted hand. The smile he is giving her is amused, if not inquisitive. "You don't work Sunday," she reminds him.  

"I don't work at Torchwood on Sundays," he corrects. "But my shift at the cafe is from eight to one." And then, "You're going to wrinkle my trousers."

"Oh, right," Rose says. She lets go of his leg. "Yeah, right, ‘course."

He turns to leave and she slumps back down, pulling the duvet over her head. He gets a far as the door before she shoots back up again.

"I'm sorry, what? Did you just say shift at the cafe?”

*

The cafe in question is called Jack’s, which Rose thinks is kind of funny in a stupid way, certain that their own Jack would get a kick out of it. It’s a small little thing just around the corner of Torchwood one, crammed between a pawnshop and a dry cleaner’s, with only six tables and a counter for seating. The Doctor has been working there for three weeks, doing one shift Sunday mornings and then another from twelve to five on Wednesdays. His managers, fellow employees, and visiting customers all love him, absolutely adore him, won’t stop raving about him… and Rose has had no idea.

When she accuses him of keeping secrets he points out that she thought she must have known. Hadn't she wondered where he'd been on Wednesday evenings? ("I work till six, usually later!") And Sundays? ("...I just thought you were faffing about in the city, honestly.") It has all the makings of a colossal row, which they are quite good at, when Rose admits she's just concerned he felt like it was something he should hide.

"I'm not hiding it! I just… didn’t exactly say it."

"Yeah, I don't know about other planets, but here on Earth that's called lying!"

"It's a lie of omission."

"So you admit it's a lie."

"A teensy one. A _teeny_ tiny little lie."

"A second job is kind of a big lie."

"Do you want me to quit?"

"What, no! I don't care what you do, Doctor. I just--. Are you bored? Are you bored here?"

"Bored? You think that's what it is? I love this life!"

"Well, sometimes I'm not sure!"

"I'm not bored! I could never be bored with you. It's just a thing! A hobby! That's a human thing to do, isn't it? Have hobbies?"

It turns out that they're much better at making up than fighting, which Rose is quite pleased about. After it all, Rose apologizes for snapping, the Doctor apologizes for not being honest, and after coming to the agreement that the Doctor will keep his new job, the matter of his hidden intentions is officially dropped, never to be picked up again.

*

"So is it some sort of 'I've never had to worry about money so the idea of working a minimum wage job sounds fabulously romantic' thing? Because if it is I'll have to smack you."

The Doctor frowns, "Oh, I hope not. That makes me sound like a bit of a prat, doesn't it?"

He’s standing in front of the stove, making something that smells deceptively delicious, but which he refuses to explain to her, claiming the surprise will be worth it, and wearing an obnoxious floral apron that sends Rose into hysterics every time she sees him in it. Rose is sitting at the breakfast bar across from him, just home from work, trying to get a head start on the paperwork Torchwood needs for the first contact operation she ran the day before. At his response, she angles her pen at him reproachfully.

“I’m just saying, as someone who’s had to work this kind of job-- you know, to survive-- I don’t half see the appeal.”

He glances at her over his shoulder, flipping what looks suspiciously like a crepe, “You were a waitress?”

“For a bit, when I was sixteen,” she grins wickedly and tucks her tongue against the roof of her mouth, “Got fired after I dumped water on a customer who got a _bit_ handsy.”

“Hah!” The Doctor hoots, turning to grin at her fully. “Oh, Rose Tyler, why am I not surprised? I bet Jackie was pleased.”

Rose nods, “Oh, she played the part of the angry mum alright, gave me a stern talking to about job responsibility and what it means to be a woman in the working world,” She props her chin on her hand, spinning the pen in the other, and gives him a smirk. “But she also gave me extra dessert for a week.”

A timer dings before the Doctor can reply, and he whirls to take something from the oven. He’s been warming up a few thick slices of ham he’s bought from the butchers, and Rose rises up on her stool to sneak a peak at what he’s doing with them. He wiggles his eyebrows at her as he drops them onto a plate and slides them out of her line of sight, and she sighs an exaggerated, put upon sigh, but goes back to signing her name on what seems to be an endless stream of confidentiality agreements.

After what seems like moments he turns with a flourish and presents her with his creation. “ _Viola! Bon appetite_ , a ham and poached egg crepe _avec_ hollandaise sauce, for your eating pleasure.”

“Ahhh,” Rose abandons her pen in favor of pulling the food toward her, “Just what I’ve always wanted, a man who can cook.” She awards him with a licentious smile, and he adjusts his tie with poorly hidden huff of pride. “What brought this on, anyway? Far be it for me to complain, but did you just wake up with cooking fever? Too many repeats of MasterChef?”

“No such thing, but no, Mike and Raul taught me.” He looks pointedly at her plate, not continuing until she humors him and takes a bite. When she hums appreciatively around her fork his pleased smile grows bigger. “Excellent, isn’t it?”

“Very,” she takes the glass of ice water he passes over. “Ta. Who and who, now?”

“Mike and Raul, the blokes from work.”

“Work being Jack’s.”

He gives her a look, half guarded, like he’s worried she’s about to open up an old argument, “Yes.”

She waves her hand, "I’m just wondering. Don’t think I don’t see your plan, though.”

He puts a hand to his heart, eyes wide, as if to say _‘ulterior motive? Me?’_ “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Uh huh, and your sudden interest in cooking has nothing to do with me getting off your case about your new job.”

The Doctor leans deeply against the counter, “Rose Tyler what you’re accusing me of is manipulation and quite frankly I am offended.”

“Yeah, alright,” she spears a bit of crepe on her fork and waves it in his face. With a show of bravado he risks getting stabbed in the eye to nab the bite.

“Delicious,” he says with obvious gusto, and she rolls her eyes.

After a moment of thoughtful chewing between the two of them, Rose hazards approaching the subject again, aiming for playful, “This isn't going to become a thing, is it? You picking up jobs when I’m not looking? I'm not going to wake up tomorrow and you've decided to be an erotic dancer?"

The Doctor snorts, "Pfft, naah." And then he pauses, angling his head toward her; eyes alight with a sparkling interest she knows all too well, "Why? You think I could be?"

She squints at him, makes a show of looking him up and down. "Well... you're a little stringy for it, to be honest."

"What! Am not!"

"Doctor!"

He still looks hurt. "What?"

She shakes her head, trying not to laugh, "Your erotic dancing abilities aside, will you please just tell me what's going on? Honestly, _honestly_ , I don’t care what you do. I just want to know, seriously, is this something we need to talk about?"

But then she's distracted because he's pulling off his ridiculous apron and has started to perform what just may be the most petulant strip tease in recorded human history. Rose tips her head back and laughs and laughs and laughs.

*

She lets the subject lie for a bit, sure that the Doctor will reveal whatever his sudden interest in minimum wage jobs is to her eventually. It’s not that she’s particularly upset-- the Doctor does something inexplicable every other Tuesday, and quite frankly he’s running a bit behind schedule. The only difference is that usually he will take the time to explain the logic behind his madness to her; explain that, well, Rose, the reason he’s thrown all of their bread out is because he’s just remembered the words of a traveling soothsayer he met on Praxus IV who warned him about eating gluten in his old age, and don’t you think toast for breakfast is boring anyway? Instead, this time, he’s been nervous and shifty, changing the subject every time she brings it up, and truthfully it just does not bode well for her. She’s known him long enough to realize that a guilty Doctor is a dangerous one.

She tries to be delicate about it; never mentioning it when she’s cross, and trying not to needle him to the point that he closes himself off the subject entirely. Playing by these rules, it just so happens that the next time the topic is brought up it is done in the place of contention itself. She’s visiting Jack’s for the first time on her lunch break, and it’s slow enough that he can take the time to hover as she decides what she wants.

“Alright, I’ve got it,” she tells him, putting down her menu.

He straightens attentively, putting on a lofty, affected accent. “Your order then, madam?”

“No, I mean, I’ve figured why you’ve taken this job.”

“Oh,” his eyebrows furrow, “You have?”

“Yes.” She leans forward with an air of conspiracy, “I think that it’s a midlife crisis.”

“Ah,” The wrinkle between his brows grows deeper. “I see.”

“The way I see it, 900 years and some change and you decide it's time to reinvent yourself. Am I right?”

“Well, I’m not exactly 900--.”

“It’s child development then. Now that you’re three years old you’re figuring out who you are.”

He gives her a dirty look and opens up his mouth to retort with something that Rose is sure he intends to be devastatingly witty. Unfortunately, he’s cut off by a thick Welsh accent coming from the kitchen.

"Doctor! Table five’s order is ready!" He wiggles his fingers at Rose, a sign that he intends to remember her impudence, surely, and then skirts away, off behind the counter to pick up a handful of plates.

The woman who has called his name crosses behind the counter to stand in front of Rose, "Can I help you then, love?" She's a small, matronly looking woman, about middle-aged, with dark curly hair and a face full of freckles. Rose shakes her head.

"Sorry, just give me a mo'. Still looking." She sticks her hand out, "I'm Rose, by the way."

Instantly the woman looks delighted, clapping her hands together once and then shaking Rose's proffered one. "Oh! You must be the Rose the Doctor's always on about!"

Rose grins, glancing over at the Doctor, who suddenly looks suspiciously interested in the table he's serving. "Must be."

"It's lovely to finally meet you," The woman says warmly, and Rose decides that she likes her very much. "I'm Margaret Argall, the owner. We all just love the Doctor here. It's amazing- used to be we just ran on regulars, but now we're getting new customers in all the time, just coming in droves." She leans in conspiratorially, "Mind you, about half of them are university girls trying to catch his eye."

Rose tries to bite down on the smirk that's threatening to take over her face. In another life it might have bothered, but recently Rose has felt nothing but sympathy for those who find themselves vulnerable to the Doctor’s whims. "Is that so?"

Margaret, possibly mistaking Rose's clipped tone as a mark of jealousy, rather than restrained laughter, pats her hand. "Oh, but don't you worry, he never gives any of them a second look."

Rose nods sagely, "Thank you, that's good to know."

Perhaps sensing his good name being besmirched, or perhaps just finished carrying out his order, the Doctor reappears, looking grave. “You spreading lies about me again, Margaret?”

“She was just telling me that you’re terrible and should be sacked immediately,” Rose informs him.

Margaret laughs, going a little doe eyed when the Doctor puts an arm around her shoulders, but the Doctor himself just shakes his head. "Well, it's just as well, you didn't look that hungry anyway." He begins to make a show of removing his apron but before he can finish untying it Rose thrusts the menu at him.

"Chips please!"

*

After that, the why’s and the how’s of the situation seem to become a little less important. Rose becomes a regular at Jack’s, usually showing up when the Doctor is working there, but also occasionally when he is not. She grows closer to Margaret, who she finds sweet and blessedly normal, and eventually the rest of the small staff, who all love the Doctor in some way or another. This they have in common, and inevitably a strange but genuine bond is built between them all. The Doctor is pleased with her apparent change of heart, but effectively oblivious to the small fan-base he has garnered, something Rose is grateful for. She is sure that if his ego grew any bigger they’d have to rent another flat just to find a place to house it.

(It is also during this time that Margaret lets slip that the restaurant’s slogan is “Everyone needs a little bit of Jack in ‘em,” and Rose laughs so hard and so long she has to walk outside and take a moment to collect herself. The Doctor is unsurprisingly less amused.)

Soon enough, his waiting job is just a considerably less notable staple in their already peculiar lives. Contrary to what Rose had first assumed, the menial task of waiting tables does not drive the Doctor round the bend. Instead, he seems even happier than before, always coming home to tell her about some customer or another, spinning tall tales of orders gone wrong and businessmen gone hungry. What’s more, his hours are flexible enough that the extra work doesn’t cut into her time with him at all. Well, it does, but suspiciously only at times when it serves to benefit him.

For example, when Rose and the Doctor get called to investigate a mysterious sentient mold that’s been attacking people on the tube, he’s raring to go. When a small alien spacecraft crash-lands in the heart of Paris, he takes a whole week off so they can be first responders. But when they’re asked to spend a weekend in Cairo to meet with a business that’s interested in donating to Torchwood, he’s mysteriously unavailable. Completely inflexible, couldn’t take off if I tried, very unfortunate, so sorry.

(Rose grills Margaret about it the next time she comes in, but the woman, though suddenly very twitchy and nervous, refuses to crack. Damn her.)

Which is how Rose finds herself in Egypt alone for a weekend. It’s certainly not the worst thing; the business meetings all go well, and she knows Pete will be pleased with her diplomacy, but it’s just not very interesting. She doesn’t even have any time to go sightseeing, and by the end of the trip the most exciting thing that’s happened to her is the wicked sunburn she’s developed from spending too much time at the hotel pool.

By the time she gets back to London all she wants is a kip in their bed and a tonne of Aloe Vera on her back. She’s half a mind to tell the Doctor as much, but when she gets back to their flat he’s nowhere to be found.

A little upset, she phones him.

“Rose!” His voice is chipper, but strangely muted, like he’s trying to make as little noise as possible. “Are you back already?”

She tucks the phone between her shoulder and ear, dumping her luggage on the bed and rooting around for a pair of pyjamas, “Yeah, I told you I’d be in at six, remember? Where are you?”

“Ah, _well_.”

Rose freezes. “What, what is it?” And then, when he doesn’t answer, “Why are you whispering? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine! Perfectly fine. Right as rain.” He says this quickly, serving only to deepen Rose’s already bottomless suspicion, “It’s just, I’m not really supposed to be on the phone.”

She wrinkles her nose, “What’s that supposed to mean? Where are you, Doctor?”

There’s a long pause, “I’m in a bookstore.”

“ _Okay_ , and since when are you not allowed to use your mobile in a bookstore?”

“Well, Rose, since you asked, there’s actually all sorts of times and places you shouldn’t use your mobile in a bookstore: 1935, for example. Imagine whipping out a mobile then! Or the planet Gauck, where they don’t have ears, or even arms for that matter. You take out a mobile there and you’re asking for all sorts of trouble. I should know. One time--.”

“Doctor.”

There is the distinctive sound of him clearing his throat. “Yes, right, well, it’s more of… I’m not quite supposed to be on the phone while I’m on the clock.”

“On the clock.”

“…Yes.”

“In a bookstore.”

“…Quite.”

Rose drops her pyjamas and presses a palm to her face. “…Just give me the address and I’ll meet you.”

*

The bookstore job is a very new development in the Doctor’s life- he makes this perfectly clear when she shows up there thirty minutes after their phone call, obviously trying to maintain her cool. He absolutely has not been hiding this from her, no way, no how. He was just hired while she was away, and isn’t that funny? Didn’t even put in an application, just sort of wandered into the job after he and the manager had a lengthy conversation about Chaucer. (And doesn’t she remember Chaucer? Wasn’t he a laugh?) He’d just been waiting to mention it after she came back from Cairo- didn’t want to worry her while she was doing Important Business Things for Pete. Really, it was just a happy accident that he’d gotten the job at all. Really. _Really_.

“Don’t think this means you’re not in trouble.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Rose is sitting on the carpeted floor of the bookstore; back propped up against the shelf the Doctor is currently stocking books on. It turns out that the bookstore, though a bit small and rinky-dink, shares building space with a popular coffee shop, and Rose is currently nursing an apology coffee on the Doctor’s dime. With all the new jobs he’s got, it’s not as if he can’t afford it.

Rose tucks her legs underneath her and looks up at him, “So explain this to me again.”

The Doctor pushes his glasses farther up his nose in the practiced way Rose knows means he’s avoiding looking at her. He shelves another book. “Well, I was talking to Gregory--.”

“Gregory, the manager.”

“Yes, Gregory the manager, and he just happened to mention that Linda, his part time girl, had to quit, on account of her being too pregnant to carry books from the stockroom to the main floor.” He looks at her expectantly, and Rose gives him a bemused smile.

“That’s very nice for, er, Linda.”

The Doctor nods, “Yes, I thought so too. But then ole’ Greg started to talk about how hard it is to hire reliable employees nowadays, and how I seemed just the type who would fit in here with what my strong, book lifting physique and my extensive knowledge of Chaucer, and I just thought, well, _I’m_ not pregnant--.” Rose snorts, and he looks down to grin at her, “Though I was once, for two weeks, on a planet called Dynamo. Wild story, remind me to tell you about it sometime.”

Rose blows air through her lips, shaking her head. “So basically, he flattered you into working for him part time.”

“ _Well_ , a bit, yeah. But only until Linda comes back.”

“And then you’ll quit?”

“Course! Can’t go taking her job now that she’s got another mouth to feed, can I?”

“Suppose not,” Rose takes a final swig of her coffee and cocks her brow at him. “And this is something you really want to do? You don’t think you’ll get bored?”

“Naaah,” the Doctor says, turning back to his pile of books. His expression seems to go a bit soft, a little warmer in the eyes. “Bored? With all these books around? Impossible.”

Just then the door chimes, and a man and a woman in doctor’s coats walk in, heading toward the coffee counter. They must have come from Royal Hope, Rose thinks. The bookstore is right around the corner from it after all, and now that she thinks about it when she had ordered her own coffee she’d noticed that all the other patrons had been in nursing scrubs. Probably a staff favorite then, a reprieve from whatever they tried to pass off as coffee in the doctor’s lounge. She turns to say as much to the Doctor, but when she looks at him he’s smiling at the man who’d walked in, eyes glittering in a way she doesn’t quite understand.

“No, Rose,” he says with conviction, “I know this is exactly where I want to be.”

*

“Doctor.” Rose says pleadingly. She does not consider herself a religious person, but Saturday morning lie-ins are right there next to “thou shalt not kill” as far as she is concerned. The Doctor knows this, and yet. And _yet_ , “The cafe I understand, the bookstore I don’t quite get, but still support, but this? This?” She waves her hands for emphasis. “I need some sort of explanation. Please. You’re being weird.” She pauses, reevaluates. “Er, weirder than normal.”

With a deft hand the Doctor straightens his tie in the mirror. He is dressed in one of his nicer suits, hair freshly coiffed and stubble freshly shaved, all before 8 in the morning, which Rose thinks is quite frankly sacrilege. He glances at her reflection, looking at where she’s sitting up bed rumpled and tangled haphazardly in their duvet. “Am I weird? I don’t think I’m weird. Your mother, that’s who’s weird. Don’t put pears in the apple tart, I tell her. It’s apple for a reason, no point in messing with a good thing. But then she goes and does it anyway, and it’s awful! No surprise there—hate a pear.”

“Just yesterday you tried to convince me the woman standing next to us in the queue was part Dalek, just because you didn’t like the way she looked at your shoes,” she reminds him. He sniffs. “So yeah, I’d say you’re a bit weird. And my mum’s apple tarts aside—and don’t think I don’t notice that you’re mentioning my mum just to get a rise out of me so I’ll get distracted and leave you alone, that won’t work on me anymore, thank you very much—I still don’t quite understand why you feel the need to go to some Veteran’s tea party.”

He makes a face in the mirror, “Veteran’s _brunch_ , Rose. It’s not a tea party. Well, I’m sure there will be tea, but what’s a brunch without tea?”

Rose sighs deeply, “Doctor.”

“Hmm?” He’s fiddling with his tie again, tongue between his teeth.

“Doctor, please? Look at me?” A final adjustment and he does, turning away from the mirror. She holds up her hand palm-out as a way of invitation and he crosses toward her obediently, sitting on the end of the bed and taking her hand in his. “Now, this is me concerned, alright?” She says carefully, looking him in the eye, “This is me properly concerned.”

His eyes go warm and a little bit soft, the corner of his mouth ticking upward. He dips his head briefly to press a kiss to her wrist, but says nothing, so she continues.

“You know, and I’ve said before, you can do anything you want to. You don’t have to ask my permission. If you’re up for it, and it’s not some big thing that’s gonna effect us both, then go for it.” She waits for a nod, which he gives her, patiently, “But recently you’ve been doing weird things. Things I don’t understand, like the business with all the new jobs. And now,” She tips her head, “Now you want to go spend time with war veterans? Men who fought for Queen and country? That just seems so unlike you. I--. Please, just tell me. Honestly, tell me. Tell me if something is wrong. If you’re bored--,” his mouth presses into a hard line, and she shakes her head. “Or even if you’re just upset. Or, hell, anything. Just tell me, so we can try and fix it, or even just so I can understand it. Please.”

Her stares at her for a moment, dark eyes as unreadable as ever, but with an undercurrent of something velveteen and gentle. It’s moments like these that she really remembers his age, their history-- the man behind the manic energy. Using his free hand, the one not holding hers, he pulls her to him, capturing her mouth in a kiss. When he withdraws, his hand remains on the back of her neck, thumb running over the curve of her jaw. Rose exhales the careful tension she’s been carrying in her gut and presses another small kiss to the corner of his mouth, but she is still waiting for an answer, and he knows this.

“I’m sorry,” Is the first thing he says. “I didn’t realize you were still bothered.”

“Not bothered,” she corrects, and rubs her palm affectionately against his freshly shaven cheek. “Just concerned.”

“Concerned then,” his brows rumple, and he looks upwards, almost cross-eyed, as if he’s trying to read the words he means to say off the top of the ceiling. “I’m… not trying to be difficult or keep secrets.”

Rose nods encouragingly, hoping he’ll continue, “Okay. I believe you.”

“I’m just… not quite sure how to explain what I’m doing and not have it come out wrong. Not make you more, er, concerned.”

“Right.” Rose laughs breathlessly, “That’s not really the kind of reassurance I was looking for, but okay, I’m with you. Can you still tell me what it is?”

His eyes dart to hers and then back up to the ceiling, clearly nervous now. “I’m also, er, not exactly sure I’m ready to tell you now.”

“Oh.” Rose says, “Right.”

Immediately his gaze is back on hers, “You’re angry.”

“No,” she says judiciously, exhaling. “Not angry. Just… concerned. Concerned, and looking for a new word.”

He gives her a sheepish smile, “Worried?”

“Oh yeah, worried,” she agrees, nodding. “Definitely worried. But I know worried. I’m friends with worried. Worried and I exchange gifts at Christmas. This is a whole different ballpark than worried. This makes worried look like a sunny day on Woman Wept.” She sighs expansively, “Look at me, you’ve got me talking like you. This keeps up, we’ll never finish a conversation.”

The Doctor has a look in his eye like he wants to tell her about some planet he’s visited where conversations never do end, each inhabitant speaking constantly from birth till death, but perhaps sensing the mood, he refrains. A long moment of silence draws out between them.

“So.” The Doctor says leadingly.

“So.” Agrees Rose.

“ _So_ , you’re fine not knowing for a little while? This isn’t going to drive you bonkers? I’m not going to wake up to you ripping off my fingernails until I tell you, will I?”

Rose tries to smile but ends up sighing again, turning her face upward to squint at the ceiling. “Fine isn’t exactly the word I would use but, I suppose, I can,” she grimaces, “live, with being worried. For a little while longer.”

“Really?”

“Yes.” She frowns at him, “As long you promise to tell me as soon as you’re ready.”

The Doctor nods hurriedly, perhaps aware of how easy he’s getting off, “Of course!”

“Preferably sooner rather than later.”

“Right.”

“Right.” With a final shake of her head she leans back in to to give him another kiss, and then claps her hands on his shoulders, “ _Right_ , you have a tea party to get to, and I have about, oh,” she glances at their alarm clock. “About three more hours of lying around to do. So we better get to it.”

This earns her a grin, and an enthusiastic peck on the forehead. “Thank you,” he says emphatically, and then bounds from the bed, only to pause briefly in the doorway.

“Not mad?” he asks.

“ _Not_ mad.” She gives him a pointed wave, “ _Goodbye_ , Doctor.”

“Right!” he turns down the hall, “See you later!”

“Later!”

*

She is, of course, kind of mad. Mad in the way anyone would be in light of what the Doctor has said. (At least, this is what she tells herself.) Mad at whatever it is he’s too afraid to tell her. Mad that she doesn’t know how to bring it up again. Mad that she can’t mention anything to her mum without Jackie bringing up marriage, or worse, kids, and so she has no one to talk to about it. Mad that any part of the Doctor is afraid to tell her anything, and most of all, mad at her self for ever making him feel that way.

She walks around in a funk for the next couple weeks, sure to keep it off her face when the Doctor is around. She is, after all, not angry with him, just _mad_ , (there’s a difference) and she doesn’t want him to think that he’s not allowed to keep secrets from her. …She just wishes he wouldn’t.

What’s more, the Doctor is suddenly more absent than before, which makes sense, considering how thin he’s begun spread his time. She’s half a mind to think he’s avoiding her, but why would he be? To the Doctor, everything is fine—better than ever now that he’s lightened the load of his conscience with their conversation. He seems to glow ever brighter, while Rose grows more and more irritated by the day. It’s not until she nearly makes an intern cry after snapping at him that she realizes how far she’s really fallen.

She will not stand for this, she decides. She will not sit idly by and let herself be miserable. She will have a talk with the Doctor.

Something has to give.

*

And then, on the day Rose has decided she will confront the Doctor about their conversation, she comes into Jack’s when the Doctor's not working to grab a bite on her lunch break. She's hoping it will give her some sort of resolve, and also that she might run into Margaret so she can give her the name of that lipstick she had asked about last time, but she only as gets as far as the counter when something's distracted her.

A red-headed woman's just walked in through the door, dressed like a high-end secretary and wearing a pair of dark purple pumps that Rose thinks are quite frankly gorgeous. She's turned away from Rose, so she can't see her face, but she has time to think _it can't be_ before Amir, one of the wait staff, also catches sight of her and calls her name.

"'lo Donna, looking gorgeous as always. You here for the regular?"

Donna, and now that she's swished her hair back with a haughty wave Rose can see that it is properly Donna Noble, laughs and rolls her eyes, "Alright now, you flirt, hands off. I'm not in here to eat. I was just wondering," a note of uncertainty tips into her voice, "Is the Doctor in today?"

 _Oh,_ Rose thinks, a dizzying wash of affection and exasperation rushing through her, _Oh, Doctor, you utter wanker._

Amir tips his head, "No, love, he only works Sunday's and Wednesdays. Why?"

"Oh," Donna wilts a little, and then stands twice as tall, a grin splitting her face. "Well, I wanted him to know first, since he pushed me to do the interview, but it's his loss." She preens, "You should know that you're looking at the brand new personal secretary for Jordan K. Smith, head of Valitech Industries."

"Congratulations!" Rose explodes, and then claps a hand over her mouth.

Both Donna and Amir turn to stare at her. Donna, eyebrows raised, gives Amir a look and then takes a step towards Rose, "And who are you then?"

Rose is suddenly aware of how big she is grinning, "I'm, uh. I'm sorry, we've never met before," She giggles, and it comes out a little manic, "I'm the Doctor's, er, girlfriend. He's told me loads about you. He, uh," She bites down hard on her lip, nodding at Donna, "He thinks you’re brilliant."

Donna looks bewildered, "He does?"

"Yeah, course! Says your amazing! That you could bully a dead man back to life, if you set your mind to it."

Donna's face goes dark, and it takes all Rose's willpower not to laugh like a madwoman, "Oh, he said that, did he?"

"Well, you know how he is."

"You’re telling me." Donna huffs and then gives her an appraising look, "So you're his girlfriend? You're too pretty for him, you know."

Rose laughs, "Thank you."

"I mean it." She looks both ways and then leans in conspiratorially, a wicked glint in her eye, "Alright Rose, tell me, between just us girls; is he really that skinny all over?"

Rose chokes loudly on nothing, sputtering. Thankfully she's saved from answering by Amir, who plonks a coffee and a scone between them.

"On the house in honor of our new captain of industry," he says, giving Donna a little bow.

"Oh, thanks, Amir. You're an angel." She takes the coffee in one hand and the scone in another, and then gives Rose a tip of her head and a wink.

"We'll have to talk more later. I’ve got to go tell my mother. Oh, the look on her face--! Hah!" She cackles loudly, and then gives them both one last nod. With a swish of her hair and a clack of her heels, Donna strides from the cafe like a conquering hero. 

As she rounds the corner and disappears from sight, Amir sighs deeply and slumps against the counter, "What a woman, am I right?"

“Listen, mate,” Rose says, smiling. "You don't even know the half of it."

*

In the face of this new evidence, Rose makes some drastic structural changes to her conversation plan. She picks up a curry on the way home and sets it in the oven on low heat to keep it warm. The Doctor usually works late on Tuesdays, something that had factored into her original plan in the manner that it would have given her more time to practice how she was going to confront him. Now, she uses it to rework what she’s going to say, as well as clean up before dinner. Ten minutes before he’s due home, the Doctor rings to tell her, in a slightly aggravated voice, that something has come up at the lab and he’ll be later than usual. This is perfectly fine to Rose, who suddenly realizes she could really do with a lie down. With all the fussing she’s been doing recently she’s hardly slept, but now that she has a game plan she finds that most of the tension she’s been holding in her chest has fizzled out. As an afterthought, she opens up a bottle of one of their nicer wines to let it breathe before dinner, and then settles onto their couch to watch a couple reruns of Britain’s Got Talent until the Doctor comes home.

She must doze off at some point, because the next thing she opens her eyes to is the Doctor standing with is his back turned to her, using the remote to click off the telly. He’s standing barefoot, already down to his button up, and after all this time it still warms her sleepy heart to see how unguarded he looks, how domestic.

“I was watching that, you know,” she says fuzzily.

He jolts and then turns around to raise his eyebrows at her. His tie’s gone, the first few of his buttons undone. “Oh yeah? With your eyes closed?”

“Better to hear the,” she rubs her eye and then uses her hand to gesture vaguely. “You know, the talent.”

“And the snoring I heard I suppose was you practicing Kundalini yoga?”

“Something like that, yeah.”

They stare at each other, both teasingly oppositional. Rose is the first to smile. “Long day?”

“Oh,” the Doctor sighs, and the tension in his shoulders goes slack as he shrugs, “Not so long. Suppose I’m just more tired than I thought I was. Are we having guests?”

“No, why?”

He tips his head at the wine bottle Rose had left on the counter, “You brought out wine.”

“Oh no, that was for us. Just sort of wanted to.” She sits up straighter, making room on the couch and then patting the cushion, “Come here for a minute though?”

The Doctor obliges, settling onto the other side of the couch and then laying his legs across hers. They have a brief battle for who gets to be on top, which she lets him think he wins, and then she picks his foot up and digs her thumb into the arch of it, pressing down in broad sweeps. He sighs and lets his head fall back against the couch, eyes closed.

After a moment of this, Rose speaks. “I went into Jack’s on my lunch break today,” she says, watching his expression.

The Doctor doesn’t stir, “Oh?”

“Yeah, I ran into someone.”

“Hm,” he replies.

“It was Donna Noble.”

At this, the Doctor opens his eyes and sits straight up to look at her, his foot jerking out of her hand. “Oh.” He says.  

Rose lifts the corner of her mouth in a wry smile, “Why did you think I’d be angry?” When his eyes turn feebly toward the ceiling her smile falls again, “Unless that wasn’t what you were hiding.”

“No!” The Doctor jerks a bit, face panicked, and then recovers, “I mean. That was it. That was… what I wasn’t telling you.” He licks his lips, “Though, there were others. It isn’t just Donna that I’ve…but you’ve already figured that out, haven’t you?”

Rose shrugs, “I’d kinda figured, yeah.”

“Right.” Her question still hangs between them, and he tugs sheepishly on his ear, “Well it’s not very healthy is it? Not letting go of the past and all that. Didn’t want you to think of me as some sad old man reliving his glory days. Or that I’m not happy with our life here. Sometimes I just…” She thinks he might be about to say ‘miss them’, but the words die halfway in his throat. He studies the ceiling again, a bit helplessly.

“Oh, Doctor,” she says with a sigh, putting a hand on his leg, “you’re so… you.”

He glances back down at her, looking nonplussed. “Yes, I am… very me.”

“I don’t think it’s abnormal that you want to see your old friends.”

He sits up slightly, “No?”

“No, I actually think that might be the most normal thing you’ve done since I’ve met you.”

He laughs, but it’s mainly an exhale, “Oh.”

“Yeah. And I also don’t think it makes you some barmy old man, or whatever daft thing it was you said.” She shakes her head, “We just… need other people. You especially. And I don’t know what I’ve ever said or done to make you think I expect you to live solely off my company, but whatever it was I’m sorry, and I take it back.”

“No, I’m sorry, it wasn’t you. It was,” he squints, “Well, I don’t know what it was. Blimey, I have been a bit daft, haven’t I?”

Rose smiles at him, “Oh, well done, give the alien a prize.” He gives her a look, and she takes his foot again, squeezing his heel once. “I do wish you would cut down on one of your jobs. You look exhausted.”

He tips his chin up, a tad defiantly. “I am… a bit tired,” he allows, and then holds his hand out to her. “I’ll consider it, but only if you come here.”

With another smile, Rose allows herself to be pulled between his legs, turning so she can settle with her back against his chest. He tucks his chin on top of her head, and then wraps an arm around her, threading their hands.

“Better,” he declares, and then goes silent, a sign Rose takes to mean he really must be more drained than he’s letting on. She’s about to settle in for a second go at that nap she’d started earlier when a thought niggles in her brain.

“You know,” she says, “I ran into Sarah Jane earlier, before all this nonsense started. I meant to tell you, but then I was so distracted it completely slipped my mind. It never even occurred to me that the two might be connected.”

“Sarah Jane, really?” Behind her, the Doctor stirs, and Rose sits up a bit to turn and look at his face, leaning her weight on one arm. “I’ve been trying to track her down, but I couldn’t seem to find her anywhere.” He looks halfway excited, mostly nervous, “Is she well?”

Rose nods, “Seems to be. I nearly got into a fistfight with her husband.” The Doctor looks delighted, “Yeah, I thought you’d like that.”

“Oh, Sarah Jane, married,” he says wondrously, and Rose turns to lean back against his chest. “That’s lovely. I’d always thought- but never mind. Was she happy, do you think?”

His fingers drum nervously against her side, and she takes his anxious hand. “I think she was.”

“Good. That’s-. Yes, that’s very good.” His fingers squeeze around hers, and she squeezes back.

There’s another long silence, and Rose wants to let it go; wants to let the subject drop and enjoy the sound of the Doctor’s breath in her ear, and the way the setting sun is falling through their living room window, and just accept that they might be okay now, but she can’t just leave it, and so she says, “Didn’t it hurt you? Seeing them and knowing they never knew you?”

The Doctor doesn’t respond- maybe is asleep or maybe is pretending to be. Rose opens her foolish mouth and plunders on, “I just- when I saw her, all I could think was… and now again I’ve been thinking… If that was someone I loved, or even… if it was somehow you, and I found you and you didn’t know me, and I saw… saw everything you would become if I had never been in your life. I think that would hurt worse than never seeing you again at all.”

He still doesn’t speak. Or maybe can’t, or will not. Rose has always known that there are things that hurt him too much to talk about, some guilt buried so deep in him she can only ever catch glimpses of it, and maybe this is just another one of those things. But maybe it doesn’t have to be.

“…Or, you know,” she continues, lighter now, “Maybe that’s wrong. Maybe that’s just me being selfish. Because when I saw Donna today it was because she came in to tell you that she’d just been hired as a secretary at some big company, and I know you played a part in that because she said that you’d convinced her to do the interview. And I’m sure every time you say hello to Martha or whoever it is you’ve holed yourself up in that bookshop for it makes her day a little brighter,” she lets go of his hand to prop herself up on her elbow again, angling for a look at this face, “and the instant I saw Donna I thought--.” She turns and the Doctor is staring straight at her, eyes glimmering. Before she can even form the next word of her sentence he sits up to kiss her soundly.

“…Thought she never looked happier.” Rose finishes breathlessly, “Oh.”

“Was she really?” The Doctor asks, tugging her up and over so she’s straddling him and he can look at her fully. His face is split in a smile, his voice so desperately genuine that Rose has to kiss him again.

“Of course she was, Doctor.” He closes his eyes, but he’s still grinning, and he seems to her, in that moment, so beautiful. She tucks her cheek against his, speaking to the shell of his ear, “You touch our lives, you never stop touching them. You never stop making them better. To think anything else is just… stupid.”

His voice is low and warm, chest trembling with a laugh, “I’m a meddler.”

“Definitely,” Rose agrees, and then sits up to stroke her thumb over his eyebrow fondly, “You’re never not.”

He laughs again at that, breath long and tremulous. Finally he opens his eyes and says, “What about you?”

She frowns at him, “What about me?”

“Think I meddled too much?” His eyes are teasing now, caught somewhere between love and relief. “Bungled something up along the way?”

“Me?” She laughs, “You hardly had anything to do with it. Promise to show a girl the universe and of course she’ll follow. Anyone would fall for that. ‘S why I fell for Jimmy Stone.” She smirks wickedly, leaning down to nip his chin. “’S why you fell for the Tardis.”

The Doctor tucks his jaw and makes a vastly displeased noise deep in his throat, “So I’m your Jimmy Stone?”

Rose throws her head back in a laugh, rocking backwards on his hips and loving the way his hands come up to anchor her to him. “’Course not,” she says with a grin, and then leans down to whisper in his ear a secret of her own she thought he’d figured out long ago; “It mean’s you’re my Tardis.”

The wine does get drunk eventually, even though it does so after the food has long gone cold. Not much changes between them after that night, and Rose does not expect it to. As always, the Doctor will baffle and confuse her, and in turn, she will enlighten and bemuse him. When they fight, they fight long and hard, and when they love, it is with a recklessness and fierceness. But of course, more than anything else, when they work, they work together.


End file.
